


Paint the Ground Red

by ChariotsChariots



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Caesar's Legion, Gen, Ghoul, Glowing One - Freeform, Independent, NCR, The House Always Wins, white glove society
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-02-14 14:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChariotsChariots/pseuds/ChariotsChariots
Summary: Jian, bloodthirsty and bitter, stepped out of Goodsprings with only two goals.The man who shot him would hang.And the NCR would burn.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have a character for each faction so this technically ain't only about Jian but hey. It's mostly about Jian.

Frayed fibers hovered, a cloud that clung to the yellowing light, hazy from the settlement behind him, and hoarded it as a halo. This all shifted along with his form, the soft sound of cloth against itself hanging from his movements. Only silence adjourned his lips, a cracked exoskeleton of flesh, chapped, and it dressed his trembling bones, quiet interlaced with his being. In his hands, clasped within quivering fingers, sat a box of Yum Yum Deviled Eggs, bright green in a gentle glow caressing its logo.   
Blank white eyes peered up at him, her small, illuminated frame pressing against the thick darkness that swarmed around her as she crouched. She glanced from him, to the treat in his outstretched hand, then back to his face. He nodded and held it closer.   
Her hands, with empty slots where fingers should have been, snatched at it, tearing through the cardboard and grabbing the food inside in chunks. The man released a shaky sigh that had been clawing at his throat as he drew to his feet, the dim light against shadow breaking his face into smooth chunks of black and white. The sand trickled over his shoes and lodged itself in the loosening weave of the laces as he darted off, rummaging through the bag at his hip with white, bony fingers, whatever remained of the food he had packed on his mind. He felt only leather against his skin and the package floating at his fingertips.   
He supposed he’d find food at the next settlement, letting a shiver rattle his form and glancing back behind him at the girl before he disappeared into the night.


	2. The House Always Watches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to Emil. My House-aligned character. Who isn't actually a courier because rules aren't real and the government is reptiles.   
> Anyway, he's an asshole. Have fun.

“Emil? Are you leaving already?”   
Through the casual question, Marjorie drew poise into her tone, causing it to retain the same aura that hovered around her words as she spoke to customers or guests. Her smooth brows furrowed, eyes, though shielded by makeup, applied in light, gentle strokes and natural colors, appeared exhausted and weary beneath the attempts to hide it. She placed a dainty hand on the counter as anxiety willed her to drum on the marble with pads if her fingers.   
The man halted, flat soles shuffling silent as he spun to face her. A smile spread across his face in reassurance, not that it could be seen beneath the thin, porcelain mask strapped firm and placed in perfect alignment around his head, and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit as he stepped towards her.   
“Don’t worry, Marjorie. I’ll be just outside, okay?” He said, pale green eyes flicking down to the movement of the woman’s fingers.”Hey, I cleared out all the ghouls. No one is going to get hurt, I promise.”   
Lid’s fell halfway, the mascara on Marjorie’s lashes creating a dark black line across her pupils, and she tugged on the spotless sleeve of his suit jacket, dragging his hand from his pocket and glancing around for witnesses.   
“Hands out of pockets. Speak formally. You are still in uniform and I expect you to act like it.”   
“My apologies. I was simply under the impression that nobody else was around. I will be more careful.” He said, braiding formality into each word and placing care into the sentences he spoke.   
“Much better. Once can never be too careful. Now, are you sure you must leave? It’s not that I do not believe your claims that all of those repulsive beasts have been dealt with, but there has been talk amongst the kitchen staff about noises from inside the walls, or the sounds of footsteps when one is alone down there. If for some reason more were to appear, I don’t know if anybody but yourself would be able to stop them. I am thankful you acted so quickly, but you also acted with such force, I wonder if maybe a few scampered away in fear. Perhaps they went back to-- Where did you say they came from? A crawl space beneath the floor?”   
“I suspect that it was connected to another building, or an unused tunnel outside of the strip. I asked the janitorial staff to patch up any such spaces from which they might pour in again. I’m sure everything is secure.” Emil reassured her.   
She closed her eyes and pressed her petite lips together, hesitating a moment before speaking.   
“If that is what you believe. Please, don’t stray too far, will you?”   
Emil grinned beneath his mask. “Thanks Marjorie.” He said before darting off, running out of the Gourmand and into the lobby, waving at Mortimer and leaving Marjorie to scoff in frustration behind him.

Particles of frost clung to the flesh of Emil’s neck as the desert air shifted, creeping into the paradise in lights. A sigh disguised as white, hovering steam trickled from his smooth, shapely lips as he took the mask from his head, revealing features steeped in perfection. Light, silky skin composing a slightly upturned nose and high cheekbones, s-shaped eyebrows above pale green eyes, something clouded at the edges, all proportioned, all flawless. Marjorie had him pull his hair to the side most of the time, but without the confines of the casino at his skin, he pulled it back over into a blond pompadour.   
The shattered streets teemed with drunkards and gamblers, lumbering along in their muddled festivities. A click shot through his skull as he saw a woman with a wobbling gait fall into a nearby park bench, and without hesitation, he walked over, soles clacking against concrete, sliding next to her. She looked at him with eyes unfocused, pulling off her trooper helmet and setting it next to her, pressing her palm into the top as she leaned.   
Emil smirked. “Is that all you’re gonna take off?”   
Through ill-controlled lips and narrowed, confused eyes, the woman blurted out a “Huh!?”   
“You’re gorgeous.” Emil said as he grabbed her chin, tilting it towards his face. “I’d love to see more of you. In more ways than one.”   
She gave him a half-smile that twitched at the edges. “I… Don’t know what that means.”   
The man smiled, a glint in his eyes as he murmured, “Maybe I can show you-” But his words tumbled and dissipated as the woman pulled away, dragging him a few inches with a sharp jolt, and ran off towards another casino. His confusion didn’t have to last for long, as a robotic voice spoke with authority behind him. He turned to see the maintained metal bodies of RobCo securitrons that loomed over him, one at the front holding out a paper that, at Emil’s angle, blocked the flickering monitor that held the construct’s face.   
“MR. HOUSE REQUIRES YOUR SERVICE.” He told the man, who hesitated a moment before snatching the paper clasped in between the machine’s flat metal fingers.   
Running from one side of the paper to the other, driven with intensity, his eyes scanned the letter, letting the information sink in before he looked up and grinned at the robot.   
“I’m on it.”


	3. A Different Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey it's my courier   
> Finally here to fuck shit up

“Sh-shouldn't have g-gone through my fuck-fucking things.” Jian’s voice grabbed at the placid air with tense talons as he hissed to himself with shattered words. His hand shuffled inside the space where possessions had once rattled, propping his bag up against his knee, turned inwards. “...If-If--If I h-had any th-things. Ne-next of k-kin. Righ-right. As if ---kch.” He grit his teeth, forcing himself to step from the creaking, chipping wood of Doc Mitchell’s porch and down towards the saloon, until pain, barbed claws and serrated blades powdered with rust, tore the flesh into chunks and the bone into crumbling flakes, all at the front of his skull. This led to lightning, branching out and running in search of every crack in his brain matter, searing the edges, and he screamed, digging his bony fingers into the coarse folds of the wrap that he had tied over the mangled scar that twisted the flesh on his forehead and to the right. As the pain began to wither and subside, he cupped a hand above an eye that could no longer see, shrouded by cloth. When, at last, consciousness had pulled him forward, Mitchell had hesitated to show him his face, having to inform him first and foremost about how pulling shrapnel and shards of lead from his grey matter was necessary and that some of the bullet’s pieces had flung into his eye, which fared so badly that he had to pull the whole thing out.  
Right. As if he didn't know he’d been shot in the fucking face.  
Jian knew he should be grateful. The man had toiled for days to make sure he didn't have to be buried a second time. He even let him shave in the warbled, weathered mirror, oxidation climbing across his reflection from beneath the glass. All of this, of course, without mentioning the gifts of clothing that were not encrusted by dirt and blood, and the portable computer now strapped to Jian's bony wrist, humming with a strange orange glow, fizzling in and out. A sigh slid past Jian’s teeth as he turned the knob, flicking through the tabs as the text bounced into position, each time with a disconnected refresh that ran horizontal across the the grainy display. So it worked. The man hadn't just given him junk to wear around his wrist.  
Good. The assistance it would bring in meeting his goal would be immense.  
First order of business- Speak to Sunny Smiles. Jian’s mouth spread into a cringe, lip curling as a small shudder rattled from his dry lips. Doubt invaded his mind at the idea of willingly meeting someone who had been given the name of _Sunny Smiles_.  
The doctor had insisted, however, that Jian do so before leaving town, hoping that the woman could teach him to survive out in the wasteland. Jian had responded with a sneer, making it clear that he had been a _wasteland courier_ , not some _soft pre-war mailman_. The man continued to urge him, regardless, and Jian agreed, although not without reiterating what he had told him before, words laced with salt.  
The soles of Jian boots slid through the dust before skidding to a halt, following the rubber tire tracks pressed into the sand that formed into the wake of the securitron that had rolled into the man’s newly narrowed vision. Its wheel ceased movement, sliding for a moment before it revved up again, and spun around to face the man who stood staring at him with his body stiff, dark eye peering and narrowed. The face on the robot’s monitor flickered, a caricature of a cowboy, wide-eyed and grinning, an eerie expression of forced cheer, as if the idea of smalltalk had become condensed into a single, painful countenance.  
“Howdy partner!” A voice, tinny, saturated in programmed twang, rang out from the construct. “Might I say you’re looking fit as a fiddle.”  
Words hovered near the top of Jian’s skull, mere spectres of what had once been, gentle ghosts gone obsolete, hollow, frameless, and they washed away with each passing rush of rage.  
“You’re- You’re the on-one who dug me--d-dug me ou-out.” Jian said, words poised not as question, but as a statement, a slight hiss slithering behind them.  
“Yes sir, the name’s Victor. I was up for a stroll last night when I heard a commotion up at the ol’ bone orchard. Saw what looked like a bunch of bad eggs, so I laid low. Once they’d run off, I dug ya up to see if ya were still kickin’. Turns out ya were, so I hauled you off to the doc right quick.” The robot responded, voice chipper, as it had been.  
Jian narrowed his eye, a sort of venom creeping into his glare as he spoke once more, voice climbing towards clarity.  
“And y-you just le-let them run off. Where-Wh-where did the-they go?”  
“I don’t rightly know. Can’t say I’m familiar with the rascals. Some of the fine folks in town might be able ta help ya out with that.”  
“Th-thanks for noth-nothing.” Jian hissed between a tense jaw and pushed past Victor towards the Saloon, glaring at the wrinkled old man who sat idle, rocking above the worn wood of the building’s porch, and bringing about a chorus of creaking as the courier’s footsteps joined the ensemble. The door shot inwards with a slam that lasted only a second, but caused the dog on the interior to toss echoing barks across the otherwise silent bar, an auditory attack on the courier in the doorway. Jian stepped back in an attempt to hide from the noise, covering his ears as his mouth turned up in a wince.  
“Hey, Cheyenne, it’s okay--” The woman behind the creature blurted out as she scrambled to calm her pet, getting a face full of tail as she tried to place her hand on Cheyenne’s snout. The dog’s barking slowed, and she trotted around the woman once she stood up again, grinning at Jian. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite unless I tell her to. I’m Sunny. I’m glad to see you up and about. The Doc wasn’t sure you would make it through.”  
Jian simply stared at Sunny with a singular, piercing eye, but she went on to head out the back, waving him along. Sarsaparilla bottles lined up on a fence, a rifle forced into Jian’s hands. Without a word, he tossed it to the dust, taking his pistol from his belt, and with a number of echoing shots, the bottles lay in shards.  
Congratulations from Sunny followed with another test-- Geckos. _Child’s play_. And once they had been finished off, an attempt to teach him how to create powder to heal using a broc flowers and xander roots. _A waste of his time_.  
Then, a task deemed not so simple. A request, on Sunny’s part, to speak to the woman in charge of the saloon before heading out.  
Jian had spat out a “Fine.” It was the least he could do after her attempts to help him. Even if they’d done nothing but assist whoever had shot him in escaping further.  
The wood of the porch creaked, as it had before, and the door opened easier than it should have, slamming once more, but the sound bled into a commotion already underway further within the bar. The bartender, Trudy, staring down a man with a gun aimed at her face, her wods solid, unwavering, a barrier to his, thrown at hers, backed by rage. Jian wrapped his fingers around his pistol before Sunny grabbed his arm from behind, a firm hold. His glare towards her was met only by pleading eyes as the man who had been arguing with the bartender stormed out.  
“You sh-should have let me shoo-shoot him.” Jian said once the silence crept into the room once more, voice, though soft, lit aflame.  
“You mean murder him?” Trudy raised an eyebrow, placing her hand on her hip as she glanced Jian over “That’s just not our way. Besides, it wouldn’t solve anything. More would come.”  
“Then you-your-your ‘way’ is ridic-ridiculous. Let the reinforce-reinforcements c-come. I can kill them for y-you t-too.”  
“You don’t even know what the problem is, do you.”  
Jian slammed a hand down on the table, fire blazing behind his eye. “I don’t kn-know, but I don’t need-need to. You let th-them walk all-all o-over you now, and they-they’ll return l-later in a way you would-wouldn’t even hope to resis-resist. You’re not letting this sc-scum waltz aroun-around your t-town as if they own-own the plac-place. No--- No. No.” He stood back up, shoulders tense. “I-I’m finding h-him. And I’m kill-killing him wh-whether you wan-want me too or no-not.”  
Trudy sighed as he tore a hole through the floor with a furious gait. “You’ll want to talk to Ringo, first. You know, the guy the Power-Gangers are actually after. He’s holed up at the station.”  
Jian shot around, gaze livid, but he remained silent, staring at her, then shifting the glare to Sunny before pulling himself back into his rampage. The fragile wooden walls trembled and dust trickled from the ceiling as he slammed the door shut.


End file.
